Hiding in London
by centibabe
Summary: After news got out that the apocalypse was off, both Gabriel and Beelzebub found themselves under fire, and a certain agreement between them may be the only way for the both of them to survive and stay hidden on Earth. Suffice to stay, a certain other demon and angel duo are not particularly happy about it.
1. Chapter 1

((Note: Hey guys! So I don't think I've posted on here for a year or maybe more, but I figured, it's summer, I'm bored, and I've been writing it anyway so I may as well see who else wants to see it! I don't know when I'm going to update this - I intend to gauge whether it gets any attention or not. If it doesn't, chances are I won't bother. But I just got really into Good Omens so I may put some more of that on here, as well as some Star Trek. Thanks for clicking, y'all, good to be back.))

It had been about two years since the apoca-wasn't had happened, and Aziraphale and Crowley had been quite entirely left alone for every moment of it. Feeling much safer, they soon gave up on their original tasks and moved in together, the both of them living in Crowley's rather spacious apartment while Aziraphale continued to work at the bookshop instead of living there. Eating out was common but other things were common too, and overtime they soon fell into the lifestyle of humans, and it was a lifestyle they were fond of. Experiments and advancements that were never possible before began to emerge, physical affection, open conversation, a real, true, totally risk-free partnership. Breakfasts in the morning and wine at night. It was perfect - for the both of them. They'd even gotten a cat.

But as it always goes, the peace couldn't last forever. The two of them were partway through a fairly habitual dinner out, Aziraphale explaining his stance on a human television series they'd been catching up on, when Crowley sharply held up a hand, sniffing the air. A look of dread appeared on his face.

"Can you feel that?"

Aziraphale took a moment to sense his surroundings, and then he quickly shared Crowley's concern. "Angels," he said, "Powerful ones."

"And demons," Crowley told him, "In London."

"Well… they could just be here for… routine tasks. It's not… necessarily about us," he insisted gently.

"Or," Crowley went on softly, "They've figured out the stunt we pulled. And they've teamed up to get our heads."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, looking terrified. "Well, what do we do?" he asked.

Crowley thought for a moment. "Run?" he asked.

"Wh… well we can't - we can't just leave everything and go!" he answered softly, sadness clear in his eyes, "We've got the apartment, and the bookshop, and friends here, not to mention Freddie!"  
"Well, we'd take Freddie."

"That's not the point," said Aziraphale, "We finally have a life, Crowley. I don't just want to abandon it all if this isn't… you know, the real deal."

Crowley considered this, knowing that he himself agreed. But it was better to be careful - if they were stuck in a room with the powers of Heaven and Hell, this time, there wouldn't be an easy way out. He sighed. "I really thought they were going to leave us alone," he complained angrily, "Is it that important to find us again?"

Aziraphale looked down wistfully, "To them we're just a mistake that has to be erased. I don't like it any more than you do, but every moment we exist the way we are I'm sure it bothers them profoundly."

Crowley seethed at that, crossing his arms. "Well, they can stuff it," he said, "We'll stay in London. And if they come for us… we figure something out. Always have before."

Aziraphale smiled. "Thank you," he said, but there was still insecurity in his voice.

"They won't stop us, angel," Crowley assured him, "They've been trying to stop our being together for six thousand years, I'm sure whatever new tricks they throw at us we'll be just fine."

"I certainly do hope you're right," Aziraphale responded, "But it is rather concerning. I can only imagine that after two years the strength and stability of their forces are quite beyond what they were last time we saw them."

This, largely, was not the case.

To see exactly what a powerful angel and a powerful demon are doing back on Earth we must jump back somewhat. As leader of Heaven (aside from God, of course) Gabriel had been promising the angels for quite some time that not only would he find a way to reinitiate the war, he would also find a way to find and destroy the two deviants Crowley and Aziraphale without Hell ever being the wiser. Well, as it turns out, the apocalypse is a very specific set of events meant to happen at a very specific time, and it can't really be booted up again like an unused snowblower. Furthermore, Gabriel had, frankly, no idea how to go about finding the two deviants, much less killing them, as he knew that Aziraphale at least had developed some un-angelic powers and he could only guess Crowley had too. He knew where they are and had been monitoring them closely, waiting to strike, but so far he had had no chance to gauge their magical abilities. They never seemed to use them - they just ate and slept and walked around like a pair of humans - truly, a disgusting pastime. But despite his disdain for them, Gabriel was 'concerned about their situation' - a very prideful and comfortable way to say he was downright terrified of them.

But the fact that it had been two years and the forces of Heaven had seen no results meant bad news for the Archangel. He had known this from the beginning, but entering a room and seeing nearly the entire forces of Heaven in a perfect circle around him was a particularly nasty reminder. He took a cautious step forward, looking around at the angels, all of whom were stone faced. Before he had time to comment, Michael and Uriel stepped forward in unison.

"Gabriel," Michael spoke up.

Gabriel spun around. "Michael," he responded, nervousness clear in his voice, "What um - what's - going on here? Exactly?"

"You have failed us, Gabriel," Uriel spoke up, "You told us two years ago you would destroy the deviants and restart the apocalypse and you have done neither."

"I - am working on it, I never said it would be immediate," Gabriel said defensively.

"It's been two years, Gabriel," Uriel went on.

Michael spoke up. "I was able to organize a petition throughout Heaven. By an outstanding majority you are no longer wanted as a leader."

"You organized a petition without telling me?!" Gabriel demanded, "Michael, you don't have the authority to do that."

"I'm afraid you're quite mistaken, Gabriel. I have all the authority. It's you who has become quite obsolete."

The confident smile was finally wiped off of Gabriel's face, replaced by a look of terror. "This is anarchy!" he accused.

"This is politics," Michael went on, "You, Gabriel, the archangel, have failed heaven and therefore will be cast out of it, your angelic abilities and authority stripped from you."

Gabriel sputtered. "You can't just cast me out!"

"Yes," Uriel responded, "We can."

Gabriel went silent for a moment, in absolute awe of the events that were going on around him. He couldn't survive in Hell - they would be just as angry with him for screwing all this up, and he knew they weren't the political type. He had to think of something. As Uriel and Michael stepped forward, he stepped back. He then recalled what was behind him.

"Wait wait wait!" he objected, "I… I get it, you, you want me gone, I'm out," he laughed nervously, "But I um… I have some last words I'd like to share."

Michael sighed, annoyed. "Make them brief," she commanded.

"Got it, um…" Gabriel thought, his hands laced in front of him, as he continued to step back. Then, without another word, he turned and bolted towards the model of Earth, laying his hand down anywhere it went, not particularly caring where he landed. He saw a mass move towards him, heard Uriel crying out to seize him, and then saw it all fade into white light. A moment later he was enveloped by a most terrible cold and a strange, warbling atmosphere. It took him a moment to register that he was underwater.

Covered in thick wool clothes he struggled frantically to get upwards to the surface, sucking in a breath and feeling how the wind hit against his freezing face. What a horribly unpleasant place, he thought. He'd have to get out of here - to land. Looking out he saw, fairly close to him, the shore. With a minor miracle (which, normally he hated to use for his own benefit, but it seemed to be the only option at the moment) he commanded the waves to pull him outwards towards the shore. Glancing upwards he briefly saw the figures of Michael and Uriel looking outwards towards the sea, and he ducked his head down under the water. His breath held and his eyes shut tight, he waited, counting the seconds. At least fifteen passed in the freezing cold before he cautiously resurfaced, and they were gone.

Relieved, he let the waves bring him further up onto the beach and he crawled upwards onto the sand, his clothes soaked, lungs unpleasantly filled with water. He coughed - an uncomfortable sensation he wasn't used to. He found it quite hard on his chest, and hoped there wouldn't be much more of it. His body was shaking too, and he was tremendously aware of how cold and how wet he was, his body feeling heavy under the soaking wool. It was truly terrible, all these bodily _feelings _going on at once. With some stumbling he brought himself to his feet, walking warily in the sand. After a few moments, he found that he was getting quite an odd look from a very small girl on the porch of a very nice beach house, doll frozen mid-dialogue in her hand. He looked to her, stepping forward.

"Hey you, uh, little girl," he called to her, "Do you know what… part of the world this is?"

"Rochester," she answered him cautiously.

"England?" he asked, relieved. At least he spoke the language, he thought. "Good." The little girl went on giving him quite a strange look as he continued up the shore.

What had happened in Hell was largely similar. Imagine the same progression of things only Beelzebub had promised she would retrieve the traitors' heads instead of destroying them and the demons gathered in a massive swarm instead of a gentle circle and threatened to drown Beelzebub in holy water instead of expelling her. Demons were also a bit more forceful and a bit more democratic than angels, so instead of gently confronting Beelzebub with information from a general survey they tied them to a pole and started chanting 'kill the false prince'.

"You do not have to do this, I will restart the apocalypse, I will!" Beelzebub insisted, her voice buzzing almost too loudly with panic to be made out.

"When, Beelzebub?!" cried Dagon, who was leading the hoard. "Another year?! Another ten?! We want the apocalypse _now!"  
_There was a roaring cheer from the crowds. "Do you really think it's-zz-z that _simple _you unholy swine?!" she shouted, "The antichrist refused to help the cause!"  
"And who allowed that to happen?" Dagon responded, and then returned to the chant, raising up her arms to indicate that the group continue shouting 'kill the false prince'. "_Bring in the holy water!_" she cried out.

Beelzebub's eyes went wide as they saw, slowly walking through a quickly parting crowd, Hastur holding a large goblet with thick leather gloves on. "It's the holiest, Dagon," he announced proudly.

"Good," Dagon agreed. _Come on_, Beelzebub urged mentally. Eventually she felt a small snap and fell slightly forward, only about an inch before she could continue holding onto the pole herself from behind. Slowly, with patience, her swarm of flies had eaten a hole in the ropes. She looked up. Was she close enough to the dirt above her from the small platform she was standing on? "Any last words?" Dagon asked, snapping her out of her focus.

"You're all insane!" Beelzebub cried, "You obey me! I am-mm your leader!"

"Not anymore!" Hastur said proudly, and slowly, he began to rise up, lifted by the other demons beneath him. Rapidly, Beelzebub made her move. She jumped as high as she could, ropes falling away behind her, and grappled at the dirt above her. Panting, she was lucky to find a chunk of rock her fingers just barely gripped onto. As Hell roared below her she dug her other fist into the dirt, finding another piece of something to hold onto, and up she went, climbing through the dirt. She tunneled right upwards, just barely making it out alive without the hands of the demons below her grabbing onto her ankles.

She climbed for miles, and it was just about as excruciating as you'd expect. While she was lucky enough to not have to breathe, breathing was something she was used to doing, and she found it uncomfortable going without, so she tried not to take breaks. Furthermore her human muscles ached, soon burning as if they were on fire, but this time it did bother her. Her pace slowed as she got closer to the surface, beginning to wonder how much further it could be. When she finally popped up in a nice and pleasant flower garden in London she was thoroughly exhausted - and quite a scare to the current gardener. The woman, who was wearing a small apron and holding a plant mister, screamed at the top of her lungs and rushed inside, all the while shouting "Zombie, zombie!"

"Shit," Beelzebub said to herself, brushing the dirt off of her head. However tired she was she knew she couldn't stop - not yet. She brought herself to her weary legs, turned around, and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

((Note: So this fic has received fairly minimal attention but who cares I wrote like 20 pages and I want to put it on the internet and no one can stop me.))

Within a week or two the two great rulers of their respective kingdoms had not adjusted. Not at all, really. Beelzebub had killed at least three people, and the fact that she hadn't gotten caught was only because she was very well trained at efficiently getting rid of bodies. Gabriel, on the other hand, had spent the past several days wandering the streets night and day, asking strangers odd questions and making quite a name for himself. After a while they knew, however, that if they were to lay low they would need to start behaving like humans, otherwise they would undoubtedly be located quite quickly. Excellent features for blending in were things like jobs and houses - Beelzebub had sort of found one of these things, Gabriel was currently looking for the other.

He had found a way to get new clothes, not his optimal all-white style, granted, but not awful - a dark scarf to match the dark trench coat he had managed to find. He strolled into a convenience store - the same convenience store where Beelzebub happened to be working. She had ditched the flies and necrotic decay, but she still didn't really look particularly human. Or, perhaps she did look human - it was more that she didn't look like an adjusted human. Her hair was still a matted mess, the look on her face still tired, and she wore a shirt that was far too big on her and pants that were perhaps slightly too small. Not to mention when she spoke she still buzzed from time to time. Also, she wasn't exactly working there. She didn't really know how to scan items or accept money for them - recently she had been randomly shoving the bills under the counter and returning customers with a random handful of coins, after she had learned what "change" was. Not to mention she had more killed the manager than gotten hired - so it was all really one big disaster.

Nonchalantly, and in his 'competent human' voice he'd been practicing, Gabriel approached the counter. "I would like to purchase a house, please," he told her, while looking elsewhere. Upon seeing her face, however he startled, moving backwards. "Beelzebub," he said, clearly surprised, "What uh… what are you doing here?"

Beelzebub looked about as surprised as Gabriel, but she wasn't about to be upfront about it. "Hell business," she answered curtly, "The real question is what you're doing buying a house on Earth."

"I am completing a complicated mission. Very confidential, and even if it wasn't I wouldn't tell you," Gabriel lied sharply. "Your Hell business demands you work at one of these... establishments?" he added, judgment in his tone, "Dressed like that?"

"A bit of espionage," she answered, "What's it to you?"

"I always like to know what Heaven's evil counterparts are up to," he said. But before Beelzebub could respond the doorbell rang and, seeing who entered, she ducked immediately below the counter. Gabriel glanced over to recognize a demon, high ranking. He didn't know exactly which one, but he had seen him around, and he wasn't hard to miss. Someone with a frog on their head tends to give one that impression. Gabriel waited anxiously for him to be found out, and he turned quickly towards one of the shelves. Not that hiding his face would be any good.

The demon (who was Hastur, by the way) sauntered in, looking around. He turned to Gabriel. "You," he said. Gabriel turned sharply around.

"Yes, good sir?" he asked awkwardly.

"Was there anyone here before?"

Gabriel considered ratting Beelzebub out - after all, why shouldn't he? But then he noticed - the demon didn't know he was an angel, did he? He also thought that Beelzebub had left, going based on his phrasing. They were cancelling each other out, and in the end, creating no energy at all. There must be a way to use this. Of course, all this ran through Gabriel's mind in just a second or two, in plenty of time for him to answer, "No, I didn't see anyone."

Hastur looked at him suspiciously. "Why isn't anyone working at the counter?"

"He went on break," Gabriel explained curtly, thinking perhaps he'd heard a human say that before. Hastur didn't seem particularly convinced, but in the end he simply huffed, turned around, and left the shop. A few seconds later, Beelzebub cautiously reemerged from behind the counter. Gabriel cast a look at her.

"I take it, then, that you're not on Hell business," he said.

She scowled. "They want me dead," she confessed, "I warned you that they wouldn't want to hear that the apocalypse was off."

"Well, that sounds like your own problem."

"And I suppose you're buying a house on Earth because everything is just peachy-keen in Heaven?" she droned. Gabriel shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

"There have been some… unimportant setbacks," he said, and forced a smile.

"Mm," Beelzebub responded, her voice deadpan, "Out of curiosity, why didn't you tell Hastur I was here? Aside from the fact that I would have had to come back and kill you in the most horrible way possible." She said, and there was a slight, intimidating buzz to the end of the sentence.

"Becau-zz," Gabriel mocked, "In case you were a bit too imperceptive to notice it, he didn't notice either of us, he thought I was human and he didn't even sense you. Normally he'd be able to find you from miles away, but, I think… we are making a sort of blind spot for each other. Me being an archangel, you being a… whatever you are… it seems to sort of… cancel out."

Beelzebub thought about this for a moment, gears clearly turning in her head. "Are you proposing an agreement, Gabriel?" she asked.

"We've done it before," he reminded her, "Political reasons only. You want to steer clear of your people, I… currently need a little space from mine. Out of curiosity, have you… located a place to stay?"

"There is an area above this establishment," she told him, "But I don't see why all of the sudden I should trust an angel."

"Trust me, it's mutual," he answered bitterly, "But I'm having trouble seeing any other options. Unless you can think of something."

Beelzebub bit her cheek. "Try to pull anything," she said, "And I'll pull your eyes out of your head."

Gabriel forced a smile. "Noted," he said. "How - exactly, did you get a place to stay _and _a position of work so fast?"

"One man used to own both so I… killed him and buried him below it," she said simply. Gabiel gave her a look. "What?" she asked.

"That's grotesque!"

"It's survival," she said, her voice buzzing, "If we're going to make this work I can do without your holier-than-thou attitude."

"I _am _holier than thou," Gabriel reminded her.

"Irrelevant," she answered. She glanced towards the door and then, seeing no one, summoned Gabriel behind the counter. She lead him to a staircase, hidden towards the back, and lead him upstairs to a dingy apartment. It was dark and messy, with trash from the previous owner strewn amongst it, the furniture cheap and the windows small. The decor was minimal, and Gabriel couldn't help but notice the blood splattered across the walls. Upon seeing it he made a disgusted noise.

"That's from the man," Beelzebub clarified.

"Yeah, I figured that out, why haven't you cleaned it?"

"I like the decor," she answered. A chill ran down Gabriel's spine, and he did his best to ignore it.

"I can't believe I have to live in this Hellhole," Gabriel said sharply.

"You wish this was Hell," Beelzebub answered, a similar look of disappointment in her eyes, "At least Hell doesn't get so cold at night."

"Well, I won't be here for long. Soon Heaven will know that I'm worth forgiving and this'll all blow over, and I can get out of here."  
Beelzebub stiffened. "If Heaven asks you back that leaves me ruined on Earth."  
"Not my problem."

"It is now," Beelzebub insisted, "I'm not having you up and leaving me for dead. I want to shake on it."

"What does shaking on it mean now? If anyone breaks the vow the other person will be dead, they won't have to worry about it."

"They've got the automatic kind, in Hell," Beelzebub clarified, "You try to betray the other person, you melt down into a steaming pile of nothing."

"And - why - would I shake on that exactly?" Gabriel asked.

"Because if you don't you can find your own place to stay, outside of London," she said, and her voice buzzed, as she faked a smile. Gabriel pursed his lips.

"You're diabolical," he told her.

"I do try," she answered. She extended her hand to him. Gabriel stepped up to her, his hands in his pockets.

"Ugh, fine!" he said, and then took her hand, shaking once. A puff of smoke emerged from where their hands joined as they separated. Beelzebub smiled.

"The contract is sealed," she told him, "Now if either of us try anything, we're both totally screwed."

"Don't be so happy with yourself. You have to stay on Earth with an angel, remember?" This message had its desired effect of quickly forcing the smile off of Beelzebub's face. "So, how are we gonna do this, is this my side?"

Gabriel's and Beelzebub's arrangement seemed to have the desired effect. Both Heaven and Hell promptly lost track of them both. Heaven cared significantly less than Hell - as far as they were concerned, Gabriel was out of their hair and denied from Heaven, so the specifics didn't matter. Michael was free to rule as she pleased. Hell was significantly more ticked off - you see, part of demon culture makes the destruction of traitors tremendously important. Allowing Beelzebub to escape was a distinct failure - but even still, Dagon had her power, for now. She, and her second in command, Hastur, promised they would find all the traitors and take Heaven back like the former leader couldn't. A confident stance to say the least.

However, both army's intentions aside, the fact remained that neither of them had any idea where their respective traitors were - and that included our dear friends Crowley and Aziraphale over on the other side of London.

Aziraphale, seated on the sofa while Crowley prepared dinner in the other room (which was creating a most delightful aroma of cooking steak), gently ran his hand along the back of their sleek black cat, Freddie. Over the sound of sizzling meat, he spoke up. "I think Gabriel and Beelzebub have gone," he said, "I can't sense them anymore."

Crowley walked into the doorway, spatula held casually over his shoulder. "You're right," he observed, "Maybe they were just checking for trouble? Making sure we weren't… getting into anything?"

"Maybe," Aziraphale said, but he didn't seem convinced, "Or maybe they went back to their respective headquarters now that they'd found us."

"That does make more sense, doesn't it?"

With a wince, Aziraphale nodded. Crowley sighed.

"Well, honestly, I'm inclined not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I say, if they've gone, we wait to see if they come back, otherwise, we stay just where we are," he told him.

"I suppose..." Aziraphale responded morosely.

Crowley observed Aziraphale carefully, crossing his arms and frowning. It was clear that he was upset about something more than this, though he wasn't certain exactly what. He was never good with those kinds of talks, but he had to try. "You don't sound convinced," he told him.

Aziraphale sighed, looking up at him. He didn't really understand, did he? He had always been the one to take steps forward, to fall right into friendships and agreements and 'running off together'. It was harder for Aziraphale, in the beginning. Even with both sides gone advancing into a relationship he'd wanted for thousands of years still came with the reflexive fear and anxiety. He was just now, for what may very well have been the first time in his very long life, starting to relax and gain some confidence, and, more importantly, to leave that rotten old taste of fear behind him. But the presence of Gabriel around him again brought it right back up into his throat like in the good old days. If what he had now was robbed from him, after all this, he'd have no idea what to do with himself. But of course, he couldn't say all that. Crowley would burn the steaks, he told himself, and it was a clever enough excuse for him to feel he didn't have to get into it. "I'm alright, Crowley, it just sets me on edge, that's all," he said with a light smile, "Now get back in there, you always overcook things and that's a good cut of meat!"

"Cook it yourself then, angel!" Crowley rebutted.

"Maybe I will!"

"Alright then!"  
Aziraphale dropped the 'fighting' act and went on, "Tomorrow, chicken piccata? I found a scrumptious new recipe on the internet I'd like to try!"

Crowley grinned. "Oh, hell yeah," he said, and walked back into the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

((Note: new chapter babey! slight tw for some drug use in this one, marijuana. it only now occurs to me i should have put a tw on the literal

murder but oh well))

Human life for Gabriel and Beelzebub had been significantly less pleasant. Gabriel had just barely managed to get the police off of Beelzebub's tail for the murder of the man who had lived there previously and Beelzebub continued to occasionally go downstairs and work, as she understood humans were supposed to do (though she was slowly running out of space to shove the dollar bills she was given). The main problem was that neither of them had any idea what to do - Boredom was the worst of it, and the vivid hatred of everything around them didn't help either. It wasn't long before a heavy air of despondence began to hang over them. It was a little past two in the morning when Beelzebub had come back upstairs, thoroughly bored with being downstairs and willing to give upstairs a try again, and flopped out on the couch. She had been getting lazy with maintaining her outer persona, and one or two flies had become used to her presence and and tended to wait near her seat. Gabriel was seated similarly on the sofa across from her, his suit jacket and scarf tossed aside leaving only the all white turtleneck. They both looked thoroughly bored.

"You see any angels?" Gabriel eventually asked.

"Nope," Beelzebub responded, "You see any demons?"

"Nope. How much longer do you think we're gonna have to keep this up?"

Beelzebub raised her eyebrows, not seeming to want to consider the subject. "I don't know," she confessed, "It could be a thousand years…"

"No, it won't be a thousand years, and you know how I know? Because by a hundred, I'll have killed myself," Gabriel said frankly, lifting a finger to make his point, "I mean, really, how do humans live like this? Nothing to do, no point in existing! It's exhausting!"  
"From my experience they seem to rely heavily on escapism," Beelzebub responded, "They have an astounding number of methods for it."

Gabriel's eyebrows creased in consideration. "What kind of methods?"

"Sex is a big one."

A repulsed look appeared on Gabriel's face. "Ew. Pass. What else is there?"

"Public media's another one, movies, books," Beelzebub went on.

"Sounds boring."

"Food, drugs…"  
"Food is gross, what was the second one?"

"Drugs?" Beelzebub repeated.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"They're chemicals, basically, humans aren't supposed to ingest them, really. But they make you feel all weird and humans seem to like things that do that for some reason. Big center of temptation, downstairs," she explained, "I've never actually tried them."  
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. The final statement, he saw, was clearly a suggestion that she was willing to, and why shouldn't he be, too? There were no rules anymore, none that could control him. He may as well make some attempt to assuage the boredom - after all, it was technically true that it was the other angels who had pushed him to this point in the first place. "What drug makes things more interesting?"  
Beelzebub shrugged. "Marijuana's a popular one," she recommended.

"Hm," Gabriel answered, and with a snap of his fingers, a cinder block sized brick of pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes appeared in front of the couch, along with a single lighter.

Within an hour or do the table was covered in ashes, Gabriel having tackled a solid 11 cigarettes with the lighter and Beelzebub taking on the slightly smaller 8 with a simple burst of Hellfire from her own fingers, and the both of them were essentially too stoned to do much of anything aside from sit there, occasionally stare in awe at their own fingers, and talk about universal theories that didn't really make any sense at all. After a long period of silence, Gabriel, who was reclined so far on the couch he was nearly on the floor, posed a question.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" he asked.

"Hm?" asked Beelzebub, who was on the floor. Her voice buzzed lightly almost every time she spoke in a state like this.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, go for it," she answered.

"Before you fell did you still have… have flies buzzing around your head all the time?"

Beelzebub squinted, apparently trying to remember, and then blew out a puff of smoke. "No, when I was… when I was n'angel it was little fuckin'... butterflies," she said, and for some reason this seemed tremendously funny, and she broke into a fit of laughter, falling backwards onto the couch.

"Isn't it weird - shut up I'm - I've got a point here," Gabriel insisted, waving his cigarette.

"Don't tell me to shut up, you shut up!"

"No, listen, isn't it weird that like… humans associate colors with heaven and darkness with Hell… but Heaven is… it's all white. It has no colors. But Hell is black and that's like… all of the colors at once."

Beelzebub raised her eyebrows. "Whoa," she said.

"Yeah," Gabriel agreed with a confident laugh of his own.

"Wait but isn't Heaven like… a garden?" she asked.

"Oh no, not for years," he answered, "It's sort of like an… an office building now."

"Really?" Beelzebub asked wistfully, "I haven't been there in a while…"

Gabriel repositioned himself slightly, turning to her. "Why _did _you fall?" he asked her.

Beelzebub looked sorrowful. "Shagged Lucifer," she responded. Gabriel's eyes went wide and he leaned sharply forward.

"_What?"  
_Beelzebub broke into yet another laughing fit, shoulders shaking as her face went pink. "Your face!" she cried, through tears of amusement, "No! I questioned the almighty, like everyone else!"

Relieved, Gabriel leaned back onto the couch, letting out a long puff of smoke. "I think I have had too much of this drug," he announced, looking at his cigarette, now close to its end, "It's making me too gullible, you're gonna… pull something over on me."

"Afraid the nasty demon prince will breathe hellfire at you?" Beelzebub taunted.

"I'll smite you," Gabriel threatened.

"Will not."

"I will, watch." He picked up the lighter and, with a limp movement, threw it at Beelzebub. "There, see, you've been smitten," he said, struggling to hold back a laugh.

"You dare throw a lighter at the Lord of the Flies!" she cried, attempting to sound serious, but ultimately failing to suppress her own laughter. She picked up the lighter and threw it carelessly back at him, and though she missed by a foot, Gabriel raised his hands to protect his face. Once he was done laughing, he sighed.

"We have definitely had too much of this drug," he told Beelzebub, but he was still smiling. He made what seemed to be a real effort to sit up. "I'm going to try to… rid my body of it. You should probably do the same."  
"Oh, I suppose," Beelzebub agreed, "We should keep these, though. First fun I've had in the past week."

Gabriel didn't object to that, merely raising his eyebrows at the concept. Then the two of them took in long, heavy breaths, puffing out their chests, and then breathed out. With their breath out came all of the smoke they had inhaled in the past hour, fogging up the room even more than it had already been fogged up. When that was done Gabriel made a short circular motion of his hand and then pointed to the kitchen, and all the smoke quickly bunched up, clearing the air, and obediently headed into the oven. He let out a sharp breath, clear minded again, and Beelzebub cracked her neck.

"That's a way to pass the time," she commented, sitting back up onto the couch.

"I'm sure it'll get old fast," Gabriel said cynically.

"Mm," Beelzebub agreed. She then creased her eyebrows, an idea clearly appearing in her mind. "What if…" she began.

"What?" Gabriel asked.

"What if we used this opportunity to find the traitors? They're probably still in London… and this could be a chance to regain our respective thrones."

Gabriel considered this, and then shook his head. "There's something strange about them. You saw what happened with the demon Crowley."

Beelzebub nodded. "I assume there was a similar situation regarding the angel."

"Unfortunately so," Gabriel said, "Problem is I'm not exactly sure what they're capable of. We're already in such trouble, we probably shouldn't get ourselves into something we're not prepared for."

"Fair," Beelzebub agreed seriously, "Then again… this could be our last chance to get them off our backs and go back home."

Gabriel looked at Beelzebub, tempted. "We'll monitor them. For now. But I'm not letting it get any riskier than it as to be," he assured her.

"I don't intend to," Beelzebub answered.

Within the next few days they had done as their agreement told them. Beelzebub had sent a few flies into the deviants' apartment, just as Gabriel had occasionally stood perched atop tall buildings and watching the actions of the both of them through the rooftops. As of now, they had few plans as for how to actually get rid of them, especially together. Besides, however much they hated to deny it, they were actually, in some ways, a hindrance to each other. Using hellfire to kill Aziraphale put Gabriel at risk, just as using holy water on Crowley threatened Beelzebub - and that was assuming they would work this time at all, which was unlikely. But they had few other methods to kill angels and demons - even as high up as they were.

Since the task seemed to discouraging and impossible it was easy to let it start to take a backseat, especially as more elements of human life had emerged. This time it was Beelzebub's turn to convince the police there was nothing going on, keeping them entertained as Gabriel miracle'd the literal hundreds of marijuana cigarettes to some empty cavity deep underground, only to return them, slightly dirty and damp, once they were gone. Speaking of such things, rumors spread surprisingly fast, and soon someone was walking into the store asking if 'it was legal' here. As soon as Gabriel and Beelzebub had figured out what exactly it was he was talking about they assured him that it was to them, and started up a sort of baby's first drug cartel, though it was nothing to sneeze at. It was a way to make money, anyway, much faster than the snacks did.

Furthermore, Beelzebub had become somewhat interested in food, occasionally experimenting with the concept at different restaurants or, occasionally, different dumpsters as it did intrigue her. Gabriel still refused to touch the stuff. He was far more interested in one of the few parts of human civilization he had actually enjoyed - fashion and design. He had begun bringing things back to the apartment to, and I quote, 'make it look less absolutely terrible', most of which were classical-looking paintings and very mature pieces of art. He had also insisted on 'correcting' Beelzebub's terrible fashion sense, and when she refused to buy new clothes he bought them for her, under the excuse that 'he wouldn't be seen with her looking like that'. For the first time in her life Beelzebub wore clothes that weren't covered in flies, dirt, and mold - which made her look all the stranger as she curiously tried a banana peel from the trash can.

Of course, this necessary adjustment meant that they had started getting slightly more careless with their agreement. Neither had left London, but within the city they had been fairly separated a number of times. It worked like this - the closer they were to each other, the more of their energies cancelled out. When they were shoulder to shoulder, they were virtually invisible. A mile or two from each other and they began to get slightly noticeable, perhaps mistakable for a devoted priest and particularly sinful politician. More than that and they began to truly seem like holy and unholy forces, but small ones, and they would only be observed at all by someone very diligent, and only suspected to be Gabriel and Beelzebub by somebody very paranoid. Heaven and Hell were certainly diligent enough to see them, but only one person was paranoid enough to know who they were. And that person was currently desperate enough about the situation to try something they hadn't tried in at least three hundred years.

In the dim bedroom Aziraphale looked upwards, and then glanced at the door. Crowley was busy at the moment doing something, but he tended to stay up later anyway, so hopefully he wouldn't barge in on him anytime soon. He cracked his fingers. He hadn't done this in a while. Somewhat nervously he put his hands together and let out a sharp breath. He shut his eyes tight.

"Alright. Here goes," he said softly, "Dear God. I don't… know if you're listening. Honestly it's probably best that you're not since… you never seemed to approve of this whole situation either. But… supposing you are, and, well… supposing you do… approve of the situation, I mean… I came to ask you for help." He sighed, a genuine tone coming into his voice as he got slightly softer, afraid Crowley would hear. "I know you don't owe me anything, but… I know that you can be a merciful God, if you try. I have seen it with my own two eyes… An angel and a demon are after me and Crowley again, and I think they have reinforcements. My guess is that it's Gabriel, though I'm not sure who the demon is… but either way we have no real way of defending ourselves, no more tricks to get us out of it! Crowley and I have a simple life on Earth… we don't want to cause any trouble. We just want to live with each other in peace. Please, O Lord, if you can… protect us both. Frankly, I wouldn't know what to do with myself if something were to-"

"Are you _praying_ in here?"  
Aziraphale frantically jerked around to face the door, seeing Crowley leaning against the doorframe. He probably should have known better than to expect to hear the door open and know that he was there, he figured. He _had _been a snake. He forced a smile, laughing nervously. "Praying, of course not!" he answered, "Why would I - why would I do that?"  
"I don't know but it… certainly looks like what you're doing," Crowley answered, crossing his arms, "Why would you want the attention of the almighty now? We're just barely under the radar."

"I don't. I wasn't praying. I wasn't doing anything," Aziraphale said frantically, standing up to face him.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "If you say so," he said, sauntering into the bedroom. He pulled on his tie, taking it off and putting it on the bed. "I was thinking," he said, reclining onto it, "What if we took a little vacation?"  
"A vacation?" Aziraphale asked, though he was somewhat distracted even still.

"Yeah. You know, get out of Europe for a while. Maybe we can go to Asia, haven't been to Asia, not for a good hundred years! Least I haven't, don't know about you." He paused for a moment - though what he'd said was technically a statement it still demanded an answer.

"Oh um - yes. Asia sounds lovely…" he said.

"Is everything…" Crowley began cautiously. He stopped.

"What?" Aziraphale asked.

"Alright with you?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, why… why wouldn't it be?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, I don't know, you've seemed…" he thought for a moment, considering the word, "Preoccupied?"  
Aziraphale sighed. "It's just…" he began, "It's that… angel and demon."

"They left almost two weeks ago."  
"I know that! Or at least, I think I do. I don't know if I'm just paranoid after everything, but… I keep sensing them, Crowley. In flashes. I think it's Gabriel and some… very powerful demon is with him. And very nearby. I think they may be concealing themselves somehow to keep tabs on us!"

Crowley looked at him sympathetically, sitting up on the bed. "Nobody's spying on us angel," he insisted, "And even if they were, it wouldn't matter, they still have no idea what to do about us."

"I know but it's just…" Aziraphale let out a sharp breath. He still didn't know how to say this part, after all these years. How to say 'you just don't understand'. So he didn't. "Nevermind," he said curtly, "Forget it."

Crowley creased his eyebrows. "Well, I'm sorry if I-"

"No, it's not you, it's…. You're right, I'm sure they've probably gone, so we can just… stop talking about it! It doesn't matter, let's just drop it and head to bed!"  
Gently, worry clear enough in his tone, Crowley responded. "Alright," he told him.


	4. Chapter 4

((Note: shorter one today gang! thanks for all the comments, i feel so loved))

Aziraphale, in all honesty, hadn't been this stressed out since the almost-was-apocalypse. Part of him thought it would be easier of he just ran into Gabriel - that way at least he would know he wasn't crazy. But all he ever got were flashes, hints of something that frankly, could be anything, a priest or a church or an act of true kindness, but something deep down in his soul told him it was the angel that he knew. Gabriel had a specific feel to him, and Aziraphale liked to believe he knew it well - and, since he had been getting him in trouble for six thousand years, it was quite efficient at producing a deep, uncomfortable sense of fear and paranoia deep in his gut pretty much as soon as he was around it. And because Gabriel was almost constantly popping his head in, Aziraphale was rarely comfortable.

But none of it would be so bad, he told himself, if he just told Crowley what was going on. Crowley was worried, that much was clear - he didn't worry as much so he wasn't quite as adept at hiding it as Aziraphale was, so even with the sunglasses it was written all over his face. Honestly, Aziraphale envied him. To be so careless, so confident, to not remember the constant fear and anxiety this relationship used to have tied to it. He found himself slipping back into his old mindset, looking around when they walked hand in hand, avoiding physical affection or words of kindness in loud enough tones. He was backing up again, and over a couple of flashes of danger. Crowley didn't know it, but the back room of the bookshop contained countless feathers of pillows that had shattered on impact just from the sheer frustration of it all.

But Crowley (despite the beliefs of most celestial powers and most humans he'd had sustained contact with) was not totally stupid. When Aziraphale worried he worried too, not because of whatever it was that was stressing him out, simply because he didn't know what it was. You see, while Crowley was biologically just as sensitive of the presence of angels and demons he didn't much care to look for them, and preferred to live his life thinking about more pleasant things. This made it easy for the tiny little signals of the angel and the demon to sink into the back of his mind. For this reason, he didn't understand what Aziraphale was so worried about - he truly didn't.

One night Aziraphale left the house because he claimed 'he needed some air' and then didn't come back for several hours after that. As the minutes slowly passed, Crowley sighed, proceeding from the living room to the room that was filled entirely with houseplants. They weren't quite so lovely as they were before Aziraphale moved in, since he wasn't particularly fond of the way that Crowley had been treating them. He insisted that mistakes were part of what made things beautiful, so his plants were covered in them. It had been an ongoing feud between them, so suffice to say he would never admit it, but he thought they looked much lovelier that way. Sometimes he still talked to them, though - but gentler, and more personal. As he walked into the room, he sighed, sinking down and sitting on the floor. A fly landed on the leaves of one of the ferns.

"I don't understand what's going on with him," he said, shaking his head, "I just - _why _isn't he talking to me, he _always _talks to me, even when - when I couldn't care less, or I have absolutely nothing I could do to improve his situation, he still talks to me, he always does! Or at least he has been since, well since everything blew over. I mean, I - is it me? Did I do something? I don't remember it if I did it, and he's not acting like he's mad, I know what he looks like when he's mad." He let his head fall back, hitting gently against the wall as he pulled his knees in towards himself. "There's something he's not telling me, I can feel it," he went on, "And whatever it is it's eating at him something terrible."

That it was. It was eating at him right now, as a matter of fact. There he stood, in the dark atop the bridge, the stars reflected in the water below him. The night was beautiful and the weather was perfect, but he didn't want to be there. Where he really wanted to be was where he often wanted to be - tucked neatly between Crowley's arms against his chest. But he couldn't - he hated the feeling that he couldn't. He thought he'd never have to feel it again. Feeling tears hitch in his throat he reached up and dried his red eyes before they could fall.

He could still feel the presence of the angel and the demon. He knew it was Gabriel - hell, he could place the direction he was coming from. A terrible feeling, knowing he was near - like the sound of a car alarm always blaring in his head with no way to turn it off. With a sigh, he leaned over the bridge. "I know you're there," he said gently to the air, wondering if they were listening to him, spying on him like he thought. "Why can't you just leave us alone?"

A fly does not actually fly all that fast - surprising for the name, I know. But their fastest isn't much more than about seven miles per hour, and if you combine that with all the chances that it'll get squashed or slapped or eaten by a frog it's really very hard for a fly to get anywhere. Anywhere long distance, anyway. But Beelzebub's flies were well-trained and persistent, so by the very next morning the one that had landed gingerly on Crowley's house plant had made it all the way back to Beelzebub and Gabriel's apartment just to whisper all that it had heard into Beelzebub's ear. Gabriel watched this happen with some mix of awe and disgust. It certainly was an efficient spying strategy - part of him couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever overlooked any flies when having holy discussions on Earth, or even in Heaven.

"Anything interesting?" he asked her.

Eyebrows creased in focus, she took a moment to answer, listening to the rest of the message. "He seems to be worried about the angel," she said, "Says he's acting strangely."

"Strangely how?"

"Distant. Anxious." As the message ended the fly flew off into a pocket of Beelzebub's dark hair. "Do you think he knows?"

"I suspect it," Gabriel said, leaning forward where he sat, in his usual spot. "He certainly does _seem _to be anxious. Throwing things across the room, storming out. What I wonder is how he can tell we're us, and not just some more minor servants of Heaven and Hell."

"Do we have any proof he _does _know it's us?"  
"Oh, he knows," Gabriel assured her, "Aziraphale is a principality - he has no reason to be this tense around anything much lower than an Archangel, and while he may be a traitor he's not a coward. No, if he doesn't know it's me specifically he probably thinks it's… Michael or Uriel or Sandalphon. And that's if he doesn't recognize me, which, chances are, he does."

"He's so perceptive, yet Crowley doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence," Beelzebub answered thoughtfully. "He is also… apprehensive around authority." Her voice buzzed with irritation.

"Hm…" Gabriel agreed, "That is weird. But the fact remains, Aziraphale is suspicious, and information one of them has quickly reaches the other. We need to strike now, if we're gonna do anything, or they're gonna make the first move."  
"Patience, Gabriel," Beelzebub insisted, "You said it yourself. Aziraphale is tightly wound. Soon enough he's bound to snap."

"And?"

"And I have a feeling we ought to be there when it happens. He and Crowley have been getting gradually more distant because of our interference, right? Where do you think Aziraphale's unchecked tension is going to go other than his little demon lover?"

Gabriel shook his head, annoyed. "Beelzebub - what are you getting at?"

She sighed. "I'm saying," she said, her voice buzzing, "There's going to be a fight, I can sense it in the air between them. And when that happens, not only will the two of them likely bring up certain aspects of their past of which we were previously unaware, but chances are they'll separate. Not for good - they cling to each other too desperately for that. But for some time, and when they are separate they are vulnerable. We remain, we wait for Aziraphale to break down, and then we pick them off one at a time."

"You're suggesting we manipulate them… just by hanging around them and stressing out Aziraphale?" Gabriel asked.

"It would be more productive than trying to take them both on at once."

"That," Gabriel said emphatically, "Is diabolical."

"How is it you always seem to make that sound like a compliment?" Beelzebub responded. Gabriel brushed over the comment.

"Alright but - buildup aside, we still have no way of actually attacking them. I mean -" he scoffed, "They're immune to hellfire and holy water."  
Beelzebub thought about this for a moment, and then a look of realization appeared on her face. "What if," she said, "We discorporate them?"

"Well, what does that matter, they'll just go back to-" The same look of awe appeared on Gabriel's face, as he leaned passionately forward. "They'll go right back to Heaven and Hell. An automatic prisoner delivery system…" Beelzebub showed a rare, sober smile.

"Precisely," she said.

"I hate to think that you were this good a strategist when you were plotting against me," Gabriel admitted.

"I had my moments," Beelzebub answered modestly.


	5. Chapter 5

So they went on doing what they had been - showing flashes of themselves, praying on Aziraphale's paranoia. And sure enough, up his stress went. He grew more and more distant, acted more and more strangely, knowing all the while that Crowley was becoming more and more insistent to know what exactly it was that was going on between them. After a while Gabriel could see what Beelzebub was talking about - the tension between them was palpable. Crowley and Aziraphale hadn't been at odds since before the would-have-been-apocalypse, and neither of them could stand it. Soon enough, the explosion came, just as Beelzebub said it would.

"I'm going out tonight," Aziraphale announced in the evening, as he often had before. A pained expression appeared on Crowley's face.

"Where?" he asked.

"Just… somewhere."

"No, Aziraphale, _where?" _he insisted. Aziraphale looked at him in some surprise. He hadn't stood up to him yet - he knew it was coming, and yet it still sent a wave of guilt washing over him so badly he had no words to say. He hated when Crowley was angry with him - really angry, not just the joking kind. It hurt him to his core. At his silence, Crowley went on, "What's going on with you?" he asked gently, "And don't say nothing, because I know you're lying."

Aziraphale struggled to find the words. "You wouldn't-" he said, his voice hitching, "You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't understand - what is it I wouldn't understand?" Crowley asked, standing up from where he sat in the living room, "Is it something I've done?"

"No."

"Then what's going on?"

Aziraphale sighed. "It's -" he said cautiously, "It's Gabriel," he finally confessed, "I know you're not going to believe me, but he's still here, he's watching us, and I haven't been able to-to sleep or function with him around! I've just… needed to go out and clear my head sometimes."

Crowley gave him a confused look, a concerned look. It was the exact look Aziraphale had feared receiving. "Aziraphale, Gabriel is an archangel. If he was in London there would be no mistaking him, he wouldn't be able to hide in the shadows and spy on us."

"Oh, don't you think I know that?" Aziraphale snapped, "That aside, it's him, I know it! He must be… masking himself somehow." He paused for a moment, cringing away from the worried look Crowley was giving him, "Don't _look _at me like that! I know you'd think I was crazy, I'm not!"  
"I didn't say that, I didn't say you were crazy, I'm just saying I don't see how a powerful angel like Gabriel could escape my view!" Crowley quickly defended himself, "And even if he is spying on us, they have no idea what to do with us, they think we're… all powerful or something!"  
"I know, I know," Aziraphale answered, "But it's…" he thought about how to articulate what he thought, grimacing as he did so. Tears rose up in his chest and threatened to spill, which only made Crowley look more sympathetic, which only made him feel worse. "But you don't understand what they do to me, Crowley," he said, and suddenly his tone was startlingly soft.

"What do you mean?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed shakily, his eyes welling up. "You've always been so… sure. So unafraid about us. But I'm not like you, Crowley. I can't just say 'I'm what I am and to Hell with you if you don't like it'. I'm… well, I'm… I'm a coward," he confessed, his voice falling nearly to a whisper. He swallowed, "It took me so long to be comfortable as… us, when I've had to look over my shoulder for so long. I didn't just fall into it the way you did. If Gabriel tries anything to separate us after all this struggle we've been through, after all I've been through, I…" his voice wavered and he looked down towards the ground, tears welling up in his eyes. "I don't know what I would do with myself."

Crowley looked absolutely astounded by what he was hearing. "A coward?" he repeated softly, "Angel, you went up against the armies of Heaven and Hell, how could you think that?"

Aziraphale's vulnerability suddenly stopped short, and catching a breath, he closed off again. This had been too much - he knew Crowley wouldn't be able to understand. He never should have tried to explain. "Nevermind," he said, "Crowley, I… I need to go. I'll see you in the morning, I'm sure."

"Aziraphale, wait, please!" Crowley begged, "Just talk to me, that's all I ask, it doesn't have to be about anything you don't want, it can be about - the weather or - or politics, whatever, I don't care, just stop - walking out!"  
"There's nothing to say!" Aziraphale insisted desperately, "I'm sorry, Crowley. I don't know what to tell you. I can't handle this, not right now, not with Gabriel, I just… I can't…" With that he didn't wait any longer, turning around so that Crowley wouldn't see the tears break from his eyes as he hurried towards the door as soon as it was closed Crowley cried out in frustration.

"Why won't you _talk to me?!" _he yelled out to the air. With reasonable force he kicked the leg of the couch, which resulted in about an inch of its movement, and a distinct pain in his foot.

What must have been minutes or maybe even seconds later, there came another knock at the door. Crowley softened. For once, something good had come of yelling into the empty air. He stepped forward, and upon opening the door, he drew his hand back and his eyes went wide. It was not Aziraphale, but Gabriel who stood there before him, sharply dressed and looking confident.

"Crowley," he said, stepping inside without invitation, his fingers linked behind his back. "It's been some time."

"You _were _here," he snarled.

"Yes, I'm afraid it wasn't _just _Aziraphale's desperate paranoia, it was us as well," Gabriel explained. "Unfortunately for you, you won't have any chance to apologize."

Crowley plastered on a confident smile. "You can't kill me," he said, "I'm immune to holy water, remember? I've transcended your rules."  
"True," Gabriel agreed, "But… we've decided that figuring out how to destroy you completely would be a lot easier were your soul in Hell. So… really all we have to do is discorporate you."

Crowley's face blanched. Gabriel smiled widely. "Goodbye, Crowley," he said. Before Crowley had the chance to comment Beelzebub stepped forward silently from behind him. In a single movement she wrapped a hand around his mouth and drove a long knife directly through his heart. Crowley made no sound, eyes only going wide behind his sunglasses as his body froze. As Beelzebub released him he collapsed, first down onto his knees and then, seconds later, all the way onto the floor. Gabriel and Beelzebub exchanged smiles before moving promptly towards the door, Beelzebub taking the knife she'd brought, and making their exit.

Having killed one of the two traitors, or discorporated him at least, the two of them were fairly pleased with themselves. After all, now all they had to do was track down Aziraphale (which wouldn't be hard, especially with his demonic shield out of the way) and both Gabriel and Beelzebub were free to head back home. Neither of them had gotten their hands on a car just yet, nor did they have the ability to drive one, so they called a taxi to subtly make their way home. They weren't really able to talk in the taxi, not the way they wanted to, so their obvious excitement had to wait all the way until they got in the door. The lights were left on in the dark night, and the oddly decorated still somewhat dingy apartment was starting to acquire a familiarity. As soon as they both stepped in, they began taking off their coats and discussing what had happened, starting with Gabriel.

"So," he began, throwing his scarf aside on its usual part of the couch, "Is it just me or did that go _perfectly?" _

"I was just about to say!" Beelzebub agreed passionately, "I was worried about coming in through the window but it seemed to go over fine."

"Yeah, no, me too, but it absolutely worked," Gabriel agreed, "Of course, it wouldn't have if it weren't for your insect-like stealth."

"I appreciate it," Beelzebub said, and sounded genuine, "And your distraction didn't go unnoticed."

Gabriel scoffed. "Barely needed one."

"You've never worked with demons," she insisted, with a raise of her eyebrows, "The drama and the monologuing. Their victim gets so bored they'd rather just look about anywhere else, trust me, I've seen it! I can barely stay awake when Hastur gets going."

"Trust me, I know the feeling," Gabriel told her, with a similar passion, "The way you just walked up, made your move, and got the job done? Unheard of. Unheard of in Heaven."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, every punishment is like a court case, it's ridiculous."  
Beelzebub let out a breath, raising an eyebrow. "Well," she said, "It's certainly been a nice change of pace working with someone so…" she stopped, knowing she had nearly stepped over the line. So what? Likable? Reasonable? It was all worthy of a reprimand at least, not that anyone was counting. Finally, she landed on - "Competent."

Gabriel looked ever-so-slightly taken aback, cocking his head at the comment. "Well you're… not too incompetent yourself."  
In response, Beelzebub nodded, and all of the sudden the room had taken on a heavy silence. Eventually, she asked, "Did you feel like going out tonight? There's a movie I saw in the theater's that supposed to have excellent cinematography."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. This wasn't the first time she had asked, and she hadn't been the only one to ask. So with a shrug, he told her, "Sure."


	6. Chapter 6

((Note: bit of a dark one today lads! a little more crowley and zira. tw for i guess impending death and severe pain. fun i know))

Yes, it was true, the angel and the demon were rightly pleased with themselves. However - there was something they had neglected to remember - the longest true fight Crowley and Aziraphale ever really had took up a number of days, which Beelzebub and Gabriel had assumed would be ample time for him to die. But since the apoca-wasn't their relationship had gotten much more intimate and close, and since then the longest fight they'd had was about forty-five minutes - they had really gotten quite absolutely miserable at it.

So within just a few minutes of leaving Crowley alone Aziraphale's guilt was simply too much to handle, and he knew that he owed him some sort of explanation, any sort at all. He was being selfish - so just as quickly as he'd stormed out he turned right back around again, heading back to the apartment, heart pounding in his chest.

"Crowley!" he cried, as he swung the door open, "I'm sorry for my behavior. I didn't mean to-" He stopped mid-sentence, seeing Crowley lying in an expansive pool of blood that nearly took up a solid third of the living room floor, his sunglasses shattered off to the side. With a terrified gasp, he fell to his knees beside him. "Crowley!" he cried out, panic obvious in his voice as he held him, limp in his arms. He didn't seem dead, but he wasn't conscious either - whatever awareness he had, he wouldn't last long. Aziraphale stared at him helplessly. What would he do? He couldn't discorporate now, chances were as soon as he appeared in Hell he'd never make his way back to Earth, he'd never see him again. He had no idea how conventional medicine worked, especially in this late stage of his bleeding chest, but he knew it was his heart, and that those were very important. There was one thing he could do - but would it work on him? There was a chance it would discorporate him faster, kill him altogether. But what other option did he have? He took in an anxious breath and then placed a hand over where the wound was. Slowly, tentatively, he started to heal him.

The reaction was instant. The previously unconscious Crowley tensed up at every joint, legs curling in, abdomen doubling over, as a pained gasp escaped his lips. Immediately, Aziraphale stopped. This wouldn't be pleasant - not for either of them. But if he didn't do something, Crowley would return to Hell, to an end that no one knew. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Crowley," he said. Then, with one shaking hand he touched the wound again, and with the other, reached up and gently stroked his hair. In one intensely magical burst of light, he began to heal him again.

There is a reason that this was not Aziraphale's immediate reaction. You see, the ability of angels to heal is based around holy magic - it recreates filaments, blood cells, bone, anything it needs to in small enough segments to piece the body back together, but even years later it sort of sticks around. This so called 'holy matter' isn't really a problem for a normal human and it likely never comes up again. But for Crowley, it was toxic. Healing a demon with holy magic is sort of like giving someone a blood transfusion with the wrong type of blood; it was likely that they'd stay alive somewhat longer than they would have to begin with, but how much longer and how well they would live was up for debate.

So when Aziraphale blasted Crowley with as much healing magic as he had to to get it over with as quickly as possible, suffice to say it was not a pleasant experience. Crowley grappled at the floor, outright screaming in a way that Aziraphale knew would haunt him for a very long time. He looked confused and afraid, jolted out of consciousness to a pain he knew nothing about, panting and looking upward at Aziraphale. Aziraphale, all the while, looked like he was remarkably close to tears, stroking his hair and whispering to him, "Shh, it's alright, it's almost over, I promise, it's almost over…"  
It only lasted a few seconds, and when it was finally over Aziraphale yanked his hand away, breathing heavily, and Crowley went limp onto the floor again. Only this time he wasn't unconscious, only overwhelmed, breathing heavily, his head against the floor. Eventually he opened his eyes, looking up at Aziraphale.

"Aziraphale," he whispered. Aziraphale nodded, continuing to run a hand along his hair.

"I'm here, Crowley," he said gently, and then shook his head, "I'm so sorry. I never should have left you alone."

"No, I am, you were right," Crowley managed out, his voice pained, "It was Gabriel. He was here. Him - and someone else. Beelzebub," he explained, and then coughed. Aziraphale went silent. Part of him was affirmed - at least he wasn't going insane. And yet, part of it filled him with a deep sense of dread. It was as he suspected. The happiness, the simplicity of it all - it _was _over, wasn't it?

"That doesn't matter now," Aziraphale answered, eventually, "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," Crowley said roughly, "Whatever you did was about three hundred times worse than the original stab wound."

Aziraphale looked at him guiltily. "I healed you," he said. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"You what?"  
"It was all I could do! You were going to discorporate, end up in Hell! It seems they've given up on trying to destroy you, they'd rather just… have you. And, well, who knows when I would have seen you again," Aziraphale explained anxiously, "I am sorry. I never should have walked out."

"No, it's alright," Crowley said, and then, with some struggle, he propped himself up on his arms. "You used holy magic."  
Aziraphale nodded. Crowley looked forward, sighing nervously. "Don't suppose there's a 'I accidentally healed my demon boyfriend with holy magic' manual?" he asked.

Aziraphale didn't quite smile, but the anxiety in his demeanor softened. "I don't believe so," he answered, and then, taking his arm, began to stand. "Come now," he said, "Let's get you up."

Shortly after Crowley was healed, it was inevitable that Beelzebub and Gabriel would find out. And that they did. A small fly Beelzebub had placed subtly in the room during the whole event had just returned to her and detailed the entire scene, and intently, she listened. Gabriel stood in the doorway, half-changed with his button-down halfway un-buttoned, always curious as to what her flies whispered to her. He allowed her to speak first, and soon she did.

"Crowley's alive," she said.

"_What?!" _Gabriel asked.

"Relax," she commanded, "Aziraphale returned to him sooner than expected. He healed him with holy magic." She didn't quite smile, but a tone of pride entered her voice, "He'll be dead very shortly, perhaps even destroyed."  
"Aziraphale used magic to seal the entire wound?"

"Seems that way," Beelzebub answered.

"Hold on, though," Gabriel said, "He's immune to holy water. Isn't there a chance he'll be immune to this too?"

"There's a chance," Beelzebub admitted, "But he did seem to react to the initial healing with a great deal of pain. It certainly seems to be affecting him."

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. "I say we keep some of your flies watching him, see what happens. If he seems unaffected, we brainstorm again. If not, we let him die."

"Agreed," answered Beelzebub.

"Good. Oh! I almost forgot, I have something for you." He retreated into his bedroom, and then stepped back out holding a small piece of jewelry. It was a small tie pin, in blacks and grays mostly with some tones of greens, depicting the overhead view of a fly, with the head closer to the top and the wings towards the bottom. He handed it to Beelzebub, who looked rightly delighted. "I found it at the Goodwill, I was looking for a new tie for myself and it just _screamed_ Bee!"  
"It does, doesn't it?" she answered. Gingerly she unclipped it and placed it near the knot of her tie. Gabriel took a moment to look her over.

"Oh yeah," he said, "That works."

"I want to see!" she said, and pushed past him to the bedroom, which had a large mirror all the way across the inside of the door. Gabriel joined her to see her smiling at herself in the mirror, confidently adjusting her lapels. "It has a certain class to it," she said.

"So you like it?"

"Yeah, I like it," she told him, "Nice find."

"Thank you!"

Crowley certainly didn't appear to be immune to the holy magic. Soon enough he began to wake up with pains in his chest right where he'd been stabbed, dizzy spells and headaches, coughing blood into the sink. To begin with he hid the symptoms from Aziraphale, knowing that it would make his guilt all the more pronounced - but slowly they worsened to a point where hiding it was impossible. Within just a day or two Beelzebub had enough evidence to say that Crowley was a dead man - and so far, he certainly seemed to be. By only three days in he had little energy but didn't much care for sleeping since he always woke up sweating and in pain, and his head always ached. It was hard to stand without getting dizzy, and hard to go several hours without coughing up a storm, and usually drops of blood were involved.

However much the ailment was killing Crowley, however, one could poetically state that it was killing Aziraphale much more painfully and distinctly. This had all been his own fault. He never should have acted as he did, never should have stormed out, been so selfish, come back and healed him. He never should have done any of it - they'd finally had their future in order and he'd ruined it all. Every time he saw Crowley suffer he suffered ten times it, the guilt weighing him down like an anvil. But he knew one thing - this time the stress wouldn't drive him to leave him. All in all, Crowley seemed a good deal less damaged than he did, emotionally speaking at least. On the third night, he asked him:

"Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?"

Aziraphale looked at him, surprised. "Can you?" he asked him.

"Sure! What is it, starve the flu, feed a holy-magic-induced-blood-coughing-fit?" Aziraphale didn't seem to find this funny, "I'm alright, angel. It's just dinner, it's not exactly strenuous."

"Yes, but- but I'm not sure."  
"Well, I am, I am taking you out to dinner, and you can't-" Partway through the sentence, he stood up, or tried to anyway. The dizziness cut him off, it was written all over his face, and he stumbled. "Can't… stop me," he finished weakly. He cleared the wince off his face, coughing slightly, but attempting to cover it. Aziraphale looked at him sadly.

"Oh, Crowley," he said softly, "You're getting worse."

"Nonsense," Crowley insisted, despite the fact that he was holding onto the arm of the couch for support as he slowly lowered himself back down onto it.

"It's not!" Aziraphale insisted, "We can't keep ignoring this, Crowley! If we let it go much longer it could discorporate you, or worse! We need to find Gabriel and Beelzebub, or - or someone."

"Angel, we don't need to worry about that," Crowley tried to tell him.

"Yes, we do! We need to figure something out while we still can! There must be some way to reverse this… Maybe if I find Gabriel."

"No," Crowley insisted, "If you find Gabriel, he'll kill you too."  
"He'll discorporate me, he can't kill me! And if he discorporates me, I'll come back like I did before! Somehow…"

Crowley looked pained. A headache, but something else too. "Angel, it's alright," he said, "Go to dinner with me. We can stay here if you like, have T.V. dinners, I don't care."

"We should be doing something to make you better," Aziraphale told him gently.

"You make me better."

"Oh…" Aziraphale whimpered softly, "Don't say things like that to me right now, I'm trying to be angry!"  
"Don't be angry," Crowley tried to tell him. Stumbling, he brought himself to his feet and approached him. He tried to gracefully join their hands, but the movement ended up being closer to using him for support. "Just have dinner with me."

Aziraphale looked to be on the verge of tears. That's where he'd been a lot lately, he noticed. "Crowley…" he whispered.

"I'm alright, angel, for now. Whatever this is we'll - work it out! We always do," he told him, "We've managed for six thousand years so far."

Aziraphale sighed. "I suppose so," he said, "But we're eating in. I don't want to risk you hurting yourself somewhere else."

"That sounds fine," Crowley said.

It was a sort of kind thing Crowley was doing - and kind things were strange things for a demon to do. For you see, he had known of other demons who had been directly affected by holy magic (of course, those were smitings, not healings, but the principle's the same). He did know the cure, and it was fairly simple - all you had to do was get another demon to extract the holy magic and dispel it into the world. But of course, if he were to tell Aziraphale this, it meant he would go marching directly into Hell, and that would get him killed probably with no success. So, his logic was, better he die than both of them die, but saying how hopeless it was to Aziraphale would hurt him much sooner and much more cruelly than he had to. So he decided on neither telling Aziraphale about the possible suicide mission he could take or admitting to him it was hopeless - he simply asked him to have dinner. That was all he wanted anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

((Note: hey gang! second to last chapter coming up! dont think theres any tws for this one except a lil drinking and some illness. party on lads))

One night Beelzebub found herself thinking a bit too hard. She didn't mean to let it happen, she wasn't even particularly stoned - she had about half a cigarette to make sitting in the living room doing nothing a slightly more entertaining activity. However, instead of thinking of cosmic theory her cruel mind decided to think about something much harder to face, and before she knew it she was staring at a spot on the wall wearing a pained look. Gabriel noticed this quickly. He currently had his nose in a book, a novel called 'To Kill a Mockingbird'.

"Humans really do like to kill each other. This book, it just keeps talking about-" Looking up at her, he stopped. She looked distinctly bothered. "Is something wrong?" he asked her.

Sadly, she nodded. "I've realized something," she said, "And I don't like it."

"Don't tell me Crowley's pulled through," Gabriel said, dread in his voice.

"It's not that, that'zz got nothing to do with it," she said, a buzz drawing out in her voice. This drew Gabriel's attention - she only buzzed when she was really stoned, which he knew she wasn't, or at especially high and low emotional points.

"Then… what's the problem?"

"I've realized," Beelzebub said, looking terrified, "These have been the best days of my entire life."

Gabriel scoffed. "What?" he demanded.

"I mean it," Beelzebub answered, "I hated my job. I never really considered it before. It was just… what I did. But well… looking back… it was terrible. Everyone I worked with… everything I did… all of it. I couldn't stand it. I've smiled more in the past few weeks than I have for my entire life. And I'm living in a human apartment with an angel."

"Well, that's… pretty sad," Gabriel said, and his tone was straightforward, but not quite mean.

"Did you like your job?" Beelzebub went on, looking him in the eyes.

"What?"  
"Did you like it? What you did, in Heaven?"  
Gabriel scoffed, annoyed, "What does it matter? It was my holy duty, I had to do it."

"But did you like it though?"

"I mean, I…" Gabriel began, and then seriously thought about it. He found he had no answer, which was concerning. Beelzebub went on.

"I may be wrong but I get the impression you didn't smile much either. I never saw it, if you did."

"I smiled!" Gabriel insisted.

"I don't mean the way you do."

"What way I do?"  
Beelzebub forced a bitter, bureaucratic smile, and spoke with an American accent. Her voice mimicked the intermittent way that Gabriel spoke. "Basically - I - hate you so much and I - wish you were dead!"  
"I don't talk like that…" Gabriel scoffed.

"You do!" she responded, "And now you… you do something else, you get really pleased about things! When we went to the art museum you loved it."

"Loved it is a stretch!" he said, raising a finger, "It was… a pleasant display of human ingenuity."

"And it's not just me, either. It's us, too." Beelzebub went on, not seeming terribly interested in his excuses.

"Us?" he asked.

Beelzebub nodded. "Face it, Gabriel. We act like… _friends."_

This actually seemed to insult Gabriel, but not enough to be angry with her. "We do _not!"  
_"Then what about this?" Beelzebub asked, and gestured to her tie pin.

"That…" Gabriel sputtered, but he didn't seem to have any answers, "That… was just… well you're the one wearing it!"

"Well that's just because, well… you… well, you're the one who… who bought it."

A real look of fear appeared on Gabriel's face. "I think," he said, looking at her intently, "I see what you're saying. But what do we do, we can't separate, we can't just leave! Earth is all we have now, both of us."

Beelzebub nodded sorrowfully. "I know," she said, "We're supposed to just be hiding out. Somewhere along the line we got… distracted," she said.

"It was just to cope with the boredom!" he said defensively, "It isn't our fault some human culture is so… entertaining."

"So you _do _like it!"  
"It's… interesting, what, is it a crime to find it interesting?"

"I haven't been to Heaven in a while, but I think so," she said, with a nod.

"Yeah, well…" Gabriel said, but there was no end to the sentence. A silence lingered between them before Beelzebub spoke again, sounding deeply frightened.

"You see what's happened, haven't you?" she asked.

"What?"

"We've fallen down the path of Crowley and Aziraphale. We've gotten too close to Earth, and too close to each other to escape the forces of Heaven and Hell. Teamed up against them. We've done just what we've set out to stop."

Gabriel didn't deny it this time, looking to her, letting the idea sink in. Never, not _once _did he think this was a possibility. Talking to a demon, living like a human. And yet, here it was, all around him. And she was right - this was better than working in Heaven. And he did smile more. Carefully, he posed a terribly dangerous question. "Are we traitors?" he asked.

Staring out at the wall, Beelzebub shook her head. "I don't know," she confessed to him.

Aziraphale sat silently, eyes locked onto Crowley. He didn't much care to look at him any more - his face so pale, his eyes so clouded, his body so weak. Aziraphale knew he was dying. Not just discorporating, but dying. Sitting across from him on the opposite sofa he held an entire bottle of wine in his hand - he had never considered himself the type of man to drink directly out of a bottle, but now seemed like a reasonable exception. Tears hung in his eyes, far too tired to fall. The most terrible grief he had ever known rested upon his shoulders, and for the first time in his life he had no one to go to to talk about it. His hand shaking, he lifted the wine up to his lips again. He had to do something - at least to say he'd tried. He fell to his knees in front of the couch, approaching Crowley. Gently, he touched his shoulder. Crowley looked up at him, but didn't seem entirely aware of him. He smiled.

"Hey," he whispered. Aziraphale forced a smile back.

"Hey," he repeated back to him, "I have to go do something. I'm going to make you better. I'm going to find the person who did this and make him fix it, alright? Do you understand?"

There was a long pause, Crowley only staring, looking confused. "You're crying…" he eventually said, "Don't cry…" He coughed weakly, and Aziraphale sighed, glancing downwards.

"I'm going to fix this," he told him, "I promise."  
Crowley may or may not have registered what he said. He only stared at him as he stood up, leaning down and kissing his forehead one final time before wiping his eyes and heading towards the door. He took in a breath and regained his composure. He wasn't sure how yet, but one thing was for certain - Gabriel would undo what he had done. He would see to it.

Gabriel, currently, was about fifteen minutes into the quite incredible task of brushing through Beelzebub's hair. He was seated on the couch with her seated on the floor in front of him, complaining every few minutes about the pull of the hairbrush behind her, and looking altogether put off. It was really more like mange at this point, unkempt and disastrous, and, as it turned out, a good deal longer than it looked once the series of knots slowly began to work out. His explanation was that tonight they intended to go to a more prestigious art museum than they'd currently been to, and Gabriel insisted that hair that disastrous was worse than unsightly, it was inhuman, and would begin to make people suspicious. It was only an added bonus that he wouldn't have to be seen with her looking like that. At least, according to Gabriel.

As he struggled to get through the web of knots, Beelzebub was attempting to convince him to do something else that would make him appear more human.

"Why not?" Beelzebub asked.

"_Because_ it's disgusting!" Gabriel responded sharply, "I am not ingesting raw plant and animal matter for the sake of outward appearances, I only have one body I am not… dirtying it!"

"You _do _know that marijuana is raw plant matter?"

"I'm only inhaling the smoke from that, not taking it in. And I always… take it back out again! I don't just let it go through me like some sort of _animal!"  
_"Ow!" Beelzebub cried out, in reference to a particularly rough stroke of the hairbrush, "If you're going to force me to look like one of these things, you need to eat like one! People are starting to talk about it! We are going to a formal _dinner _tonight, people are going to expect you to at _least _try the bread!"  
"It is not that strange! Human customs allow you to deny offers of sustenance."  
"Will you at least try it?" Beelzebub went on.

"No!" Gabriel answered back. "You may have me stuck on Earth but I am not doing all of this-" he froze where he was, his hand stilling with the brush. Both of them felt it at exactly the same time, unmistakable, terrifying. The new presence of angels, just outside their window. With wide eyes they silently hurried out of the view of the window, and pressed their backs against the wall so they wouldn't be seen. Over the sound of the birds, they listened in on the conversation. It was Michael, with Uriel and Sandalphon at her side.

"You said you had news about the traitors, Uriel?" Michael asked as the group appeared.

"I do," Uriel responded, "The demon Crowley is getting much weaker. He's dying. I'm sure you can feel his presence here has lessened."

"Distinctly so. Do we know what's killed him?"

"It looks as though he was nearly discorporated," Sandalphon spoke up, "And then was healed by an angel. This holy magic was, of course, toxic."

"Well," Michael responded, "That is not our business. Focus on how to acquire and kill the angel."

"Perhaps discorporation is an option?" Uriel asked.

"Doubtful. He would just find a way to visit Earth again. Fall from Heaven, if he needed to. He's persistent, I have no doubts about that. No. We need to find a way to kill him - we can't wait until he's in heaven to hypothesize."

"Michael," Uriel went on, "Sandalphon and I have been hypothesizing. We believe it is a possibility that it was Gabriel, hiding on Earth, who attempted to discorporate Crowley. It is possible he is shielding himself with the unholy energy of a demon very nearby."  
Gabriel and Beelzebub exchanged a look.

"You're saying he's been living on Earth? With a demon?" Michael demanded, a tone of disgust in her voice.

"It seems to be that way."

"How do we find him?"

"At the moment," said Sandalphon, "We can't. As long as he's close enough to that demon, he's invisible to us."

There was a pause, as Michael thought. "I see. This must be stopped immediately - we cannot have more traitors setting a bad example. Keep searching for him. When you find him, return him to Heaven and eliminate the demon, whoever they are."

"And if it was him who helped to kill Crowley?" asked Uriel.

"It makes no difference. He had his chance." And with that, the presence of the angels faded - they were not gone entirely, Sandalphon and Uriel were still in the city, looking for Gabriel. But the two were safe, at least, to converse. Beelzebub cast a cautious look at Gabriel, waiting for a response. He looked… confused. Anger lingered around his eyes, but in a sense, it seemed to be stalled - like he hadn't quite processed his way to feeling real anger yet. He stared downwards, processing what he'd heard, seeming to think very hard. Slowly, the anger came as he worked out what was going on. Beelzebub looked at him nervously, something resembling pity in his eyes. He had always assumed that Heaven would take him back if he did enough right, unlike Beelzebub who knew from the start she'd never step into Hell again unless it was to die. She'd processed it weeks back - only now was Gabriel beginning to grasp the fact that there was nothing he could do to make things the way they were.

"I don't understand…" Gabriel said eventually, his voice soft, "I didn't even… do anything wrong! I did everything I was supposed to, how can they… I'm an Archangel."

"You didn't really think they'd let you back in, did you?" Beelzebub asked, but the words were much harsher than the tone, which was one of sympathy. Gabriel looked up at her.

"I assumed if I did what they kicked me out for not doing I would regain their trust!" he explained, "It only makes sense! I mean… if I prove that I am capable why wouldn't they want me back?"

Beelzebub heavily shrugged. Gabriel shook his head.

"It doesn't make _sense," _he insisted, "No, I have done nothing to offend anybody! I was kicked out on false charges and now, when I finally try to survive by doing something I need to do, I'm… further shamed?! Don't they know who I am?!"  
"Who you were," Beelzebub corrected.

"What?!" Gabriel snapped.

"You're not that person anymore. You're not Gabriel, Archangel, ruler of Heaven. You weren't ever going to be again, not since they kicked you out. You think I'm still Beelzebub, Prince of the flies?" She shook her head, "All that we are went with Heaven and Hell."

Gabriel scoffed, clearly hesitant to accept such a prospect, "Alright, well then, what exactly does that make us now?"

"I think you know the answer to that," she answered. Gabriel was confused by the statement, but only for a moment, before his eyes went wide. He, of course, knew exactly what the answer was. It made them traitors.

He shook his head, standing quickly up. "Well that's… that's not… that's not fair!"  
Beelzebub stood up after him. "Don't be a child, Gabriel," she said calmly, "No one ever said it was fair."

"_You _wouldn't understand! This isn't Hell we're talking about, this is Heaven, bureaucratic, organized, you don't just exile people for no reason!"

"In that case, there's two options!" Beelzebub insisted, her voice buzzing, "Either you're wrong, and they do exile people for no reason, or they had some reason to exile you. Face it, Gabriel. You failed," her voice faltered with shame, only for a moment, "We both did."

"Yes, but then we _didn't!" _Gabriel said, raising a finger and taking a step towards her, "Might I remind you the demon is dying!"  
"That doesn't include the angel, or the apocalypse for that matter!" Beelzebub answered, "And even if it did, it wouldn't matter. It's over, can't you understand that? We're not what we are anymore, we're nothing!"  
Gabriel paused for a moment. Though it wasn't written on his face, it hurt him to hear such a thing. He walked over to the couch, leaning against the back of it, still facing Beelzebub. "Well if they're so damned insistent on having us gone why can't they at least do us the decency of leaving us alone?"  
"You're saying you want to stay here?"

"No!" Gabriel answered, and then realized, perhaps he had answered a little too fast. Frankly, he hadn't really thought about what he wanted - it had never been applicable before. He had just sort of assumed it was a temporary state before Heaven took him back, which apparently wasn't going to happen. He thought for a moment. "Alright, maybe… maybe this realm has its unexpected charms! If you have to be right, fine, I don't _hate _the art. And the fashion. And… occasionally… the drugs, and people, but the point is! We're not… _bothering _anyone! We can't go anywhere else, what exactly is the point in going through all this effort just to find and separate us? We may as well be dead, we're dead to Heaven and Hell! It makes no difference! Why can't we just live in peace?!"  
There was a tremendously long span of silence that drew out between them, neither of them having a thing to say. Both of them realized moments after the speech how incredibly wrong it was to say aloud, how remarkably scandalous. But more than that - the parallels between what he had to say and what the two traitors had been asking for for six thousand years were striking. What Gabriel demanded, eyes going violet, rage setting in was exactly what the inferior, rebellious little angel had demanded so long ago, met with exactly what Michael had waiting for him in Heaven. The two had, quite accidentally, become exactly what they'd been trying to stop. And now, after finally learning what it meant to won, they were winning. Crowley, the demon, was on Death's door as they spoke. After a very long time, Beelzebub, looking morosely towards the floor, spoke up.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

Gabriel shook his head, clearly having no idea.

"You do realize this is all the traitors ever wanted?" she asked. Gabriel shook his head again.

"They stopped the apocalypse. We can't just act like all they ever wanted was to live in peace," he argued.

"We failed to bring it about," Beelzebub rebutted, "It seems the longer this world goes on the more traitors come into existence. Maybe that's why the Almighty wanted it all over," she hypothesized.

"You think there's any starting it up again?"

"Honestly?" asked Beelzebub, "No." That caused another silence to linger between them. "The angel is trying to find us. You, primarily. He's left the demon to try and find a cure."

"That _would _be the easiest way to discorporate him," Gabriel admitted.

"True," agreed Beelzebub.

"Out of curiosity," Gabriel questioned, "Is there one?"

"One what?"

"A cure?"  
"Yes. A simple one. I could cure him with no materials - all it takes is for another demon to extract the holy magic."

"Hm…" Gabriel said with a nod. "Good to know," he said.

Beelzebub waited, wondering if he planned on saying anything else on the subject. She then considered being the one to bring something up - but decided against it. Eventually Gabriel did speak.

"I say…" he said slowly, "It's time we finish this."

Beelzebub nodded coldly, understanding. "Agreed," she said.


	8. Chapter 8

((Note: LAST CHAPTER BABEY! after this i may put more gomens stuff, maybe some role reversal? i love me some good role reversal. anyway heres this))

Aziraphale had been making some rather incredible efforts in preparing for the attack, however hasty they were. The holy water to defend himself against Beelzebub was easy enough to acquire - he just had to get to a church and take it, which wasn't exactly a difficult heist to pull off. What to use on Gabriel, however, was more difficult. After all, it wasn't as though he could just pick up some hellfire on his way home from the grocery store. Though some rapid searching, however, he had located a demonic cult which had created a sword of the unholy, which he had just barely managed to take without getting noticed. He wasn't entirely sure if it would have the desired effect, but the hilt burnt his hand, which was something of a comfort. Aziraphale had never been so driven in his life. He had found both things within the span of a day, and finding Gabriel and this demon was all that filled his mind. Armed with a water gun and the holy sword, wrapped in cloth, he set out. But not before checking on Crowley, just hoping he was still alive. This was something Gabriel and Beelzebub had not counted on.

For at the very moment Aziraphale decided to return, the two of them were already in the flat together, looking down at the dying Crowley. There was nothing even resembling sympathy in their eyes, despite the fact that he was now entirely unmoving, his face pale. He looked like he was already a corpse.

"Is he already dead, you think?" Gabriel asked.

"Hard to say," Beelzebub answered, "Body seems to be. As for Crowley himself, I think he may be hanging on. I'm getting a very faint demonic presence."

Then a worried look appeared in Gabriel's eyes. "Oh no," he said.

"What?" Beelzebub asked.

Gabriel crossed his arms. "Bee, if I were you, I would get away from him."

"Why?"

Quickly his question was answered, as the door opened to reveal a frazzled and tired-looking Aziraphale. As soon as he was through the door a shocked look appeared on his face, but only a second or two passed before he understood.

"_You get away from him!_" he said, and without even bothering with the cloth he pulled out the unholy sword from under his coat, running up to Gabriel and tacking him, holding it at his throat. A sizzling sound came from his hand as the hilt burned his palm, but he didn't seem to notice. Quickly recalling his other enemy he reached for the sprayer full of holy water on his waist and aimed it at Beelzebub with his other hand. "Don't you get any closer!" he cried.

"Aziraphale, we can explain, just put down the sword," Gabriel said gently.

"No you listen to me!" Aziraphale demanded with an uncharacteristic force. "Whatever's happening to him I want it repaired, right now! I have holy water in this spray gun and this sword is cursed with unholy magic. Enough to totally destroy the both of you, so just… _fix him!"  
_"If you allowed us to explain, we would have told you that we were trying to," Beelzebub said, sounding annoyed. Aziraphale looked frantically to Gabriel.

"She's… telling the truth. Could we… move the sword, maybe?" he asked.

"You can explain from here!" Aziraphale said, moving the sword slightly closer to his neck and forcing Gabriel to press himself into the ground beneath him.

"Alright, alright!" he said, "Beelzebub and I have… re-evaluated your cause. We've decided that, while we can never let you back into Heaven and Hell we see… no reason to impede your existence here on Earth. A-and destroying just one of you, well, that's far more detrimental than destroying both of you. See, Beelzebub and I have formed an agreement…" Gabriel cast a look at Beelzebub, trying to include her in on the lie, "If one of you dies, well, then we have either a demon or an angel radiating just holy or unholy magic with nothing to cancel it out and… we can't have that. So we decided it would be in our best interest to save the other, since we… frankly, have no idea how to kill you."

Aziraphale took a moment to take this all in, pulling the sword away ever so slightly. "You're…" he said, disbelief clear in his voice, "You're leaving us alone?"

"We see no reason to… continue wasting our manpower on you. It's just an… unnecessary expenditure. Isn't that right Bee… 'elzebub?" Gabriel asked, quickly catching himself before casually calling her 'Bee'. Aziraphale didn't seem to notice.

"Y-yes of course!" Beelzebub agreed, "Truly a waste of the armies of Hell just as much as of Heaven. But, unless you want to have to die Crowley won't hold on much longer. If I'm going to help him I have to do it now."

Aziraphale stood up off of Gabriel, who sat up, irritably brushing off his coat. A hopeful look appeared in his eyes, but still, he raised the water gun of holy water to Beelzebub. "Try anything," he said, "And you will be no more!"

Beelzebub raised her eyebrows, nodding, and then placed her hand over Crowley's chest. She cocked her head. "He's very weak," she confessed lowly. Aziraphale's response to this was close to panic.

"Is-is it too late?"  
"Could be," she said. "Worth a try, though, I suppose." She shut her eyes, and then took in a breath. With a wince she began to draw out the holy magic, running it through her body, before she opened her mouth and blew out golden whisps, which faded out into the air. Aziraphale looked on in a state of terror, watching for any movement in Crowley, which he didn't see. After Beelzebub was done, she coughed, a chill visibly running down her spine as she stood and adjusted her lapels. "I've done all I can do," she said.

"And?!" Aziraphale demanded. Beelzebub shrugged, and he rushed towards Crowlely. He waited in the terrifying silence as Beelzebub subtly helped Gabriel back to his feet. "Crowley…?" he whispered. After a moment, Crowley coughed, doubling over, life flooding back into him as color began to return to his face. "Oh, thank God," Aziraphale sighed, relief running through his voice. When Crowley was done coughing, he took a moment to notice his surroundings. Upon seeing Beelzebub and Gabriel, his eyes went wide and he pushed himself closer to the other end of the couch.

"It's alright!" Aziraphale said, "They're the ones who helped you. They're leaving us alone."

"...What?" Crowley whispered.

"It's true," Beelzebub assured him, voice dull, "There's no point in expending the manpower on you anymore. We couldn't have one of you alive and the other dead, either - there would be an… overly holy imbalance."

"Turns out the only options are to kill you both or leave you both alone," Gabriel spoke up, "Currently we're not sure how to kill you so… don't kill each other. Sound good?"

Bewildered, Crowley nodded.

"Good!" Gabriel said, "I think we're done here."

"Mm, let's get out of here," Beelzebub agreed. Aziraphale could only sputter but could not come up with any concrete questions as the two of them walked right out the doors. But he was only distracted for a moment, before refocusing on Crowley, as thought just then recalling he was there.

"Oh, Crowley!" he cried, and then wrapped his arms tightly around him, "I thought you were going to die!"  
"I think I may have…" Crowley admitted, gently hugging Aziraphale back, "They're… really going to leave us alone?"

Aziraphale shook his head, tears in his eyes as he grinned. "I don't see why they would lie, it checks out. We're just… too much trouble to get rid of!"  
This made Crowley smile, a wide genuine smile, filled with relief and love. "Well that sounds just fine to me!" he said giddily, "Just do me a favor, angel."

"Anything," he offered, curious.

"No more healings for a while."

Aziraphale took a moment before laughing gently, smile covering his face. Crowley grinned back. A span of relief extended between them. For the first time the threat was gone. They had all they'd ever wanted, to be free, and to be with each other. Aziraphale, especially, could hardly believe it. At long last, the source of the fear was gone - he was invisible, unimportant, and in love. Was there anything better you could be?

With a sigh of relief, Crowley reached forward, reaching around the back of Aziraphale's head, and sweetly kissed him.

Detecting no angelic presence in the city for the time being (presumably they had given up on London, for now), Gabriel and Beelzebub decided to walk back to their flat. It was a beautiful night - of course, that was a human observation. Angelic or demonic observations were things like 'there were stars', or 'it was cold'. Nothing so abstract, nothing so pointless. After all, in Heaven and Hell, neither night nor beauty were truly applicable standards. So for the first nights of their lives, Beelzebub and Gabriel looked up at the stars and found themself noticing that the night was beautiful, and though they didn't know it, it was at a startlingly similar time.

After a moment of this observation, Beelzebub spoke up. "Why did you lie to them?" she asked. Gabriel, his hands in his pockets, shrugged.

"I don't think Aziraphale would have believed the truth," he answered honestly, "He thinks I'm a cold and heartless dictator - if I were to tell him I actually reevaluated he'd probably think it was some sort of trick."

"I suppose that's fair," Beelzebub admitted, "Probably what I'd think."

"Mm," Gabriel agreed. "So," he went on, after a moment, "We are traitors."

Beelzebub raised her eyebrows, breathing out. "Funny, I know in my head that's true, but it still sounds so strange when you say it aloud. We're traitors," she said, trying it for herself. "Are we going to hold up the agreement?"

"We have a… Hell deal remember? Whoever breaks it melts into a puddle or something?"

"I can reverse that, if I like," Beelzebub admitted. Gabriel stopped walking, giving her a look. "What?" she asked.

"That would have been a nice thing to tell me," he snapped back.

"We're enemies, remember, I can't just go telling you secrets!" she replied.

"Right, of course," Gabriel said, "Either way, I think we'd better. We're still on the run, you know, despite what Aziraphale and Crowley think."

"Fair point," Beelzebub answered. "But you know. Could be worse."

"What do you mean?"

Beelzebub shrugged. "Well, we've managed so far. Find some more art shows. Miracle in some more pot. I'll let you do my hair," she offered.

Gabriel smiled. Beelzebub recognized it as the real, genuine smile that was so rare for Gabriel - nothing sarcastic, nothing bureaucratic. Just happiness. Beelzebub had begun to get rather fond of it. "I suppose I could… hypothetically… adjust," he told her, "Of course, now they know we're in London so we should probably leave."

"Yeah, probably," Beelzebub agreed with a sigh, "Although I did just sort of stumble by this first place, I'm not entirely sure how to find another one."

"Maybe don't kill anyone this time?" Gabriel proposed.

"Oh, you just love making things difficult."

"Police are very aggressive, Bee!" he defended himself, "The last thing we want is to be wanted by humans too!"  
Beelzebub sighed. "Right, fine," she said, "Now that I think about it… I think there's a certain widow in Cheshire who's scheduled to die in a few days. Part of a murder organization in Hell. As I recall she has a rather luxurious home…"

As they came to the door of the convenience store, Gabriel slowed, giving her a look. "_That _is-"

"Diabolical?" Beelzebub asked with a rare smile. Gabriel was frozen where he stood, his words stolen from him. As Beelzebub turned towards the convenience store she said, over her shoulder, "I know." His surprise fading, Gabriel grinned, and with one last glance upwards at the stars, he followed her inside.


End file.
